


Pushing Out The Boundaries

by izzie7



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Angst, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzie7/pseuds/izzie7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An injury to Bodie pushes Doyle into saying more than his partner is ready to hear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pushing Out The Boundaries

There was a strange smell, which he slowly associated with hospital. He had spent his fair share of time in hospitals, either as patient or anxious visitor; certainly enough to recognise the smell even with no other clues. His eyes, for example, didn’t want to co-operate when his brain suggested they might like to open. He wondered whether they might play along if he turned over. The immediate surge of pain that followed his attempt at movement suggested that it was a bad idea just before the darkness overtook him again.

~oOo~

Next time, with the recollection of his last awakening clear in his mind, he was more cautious. For a while after coming round, he simply lay still, making no effort to open his eyes and just concentrating on the sounds. They seemed oddly muffled, and he wondered without much concern if his ears were perhaps not working properly. But then there was a squeak, much louder, that could have been door hinges, and then a rattle which he identified with no trouble as the sound of a clipboard being lifted off the end of the bed. A trace of curiosity drifted across his mind, and without thinking he opened his eyes. They felt unaccountably heavy. The result was disappointing; just an exchange of unrelieved darkness for unrelieved white. After a couple of seconds, however, his brain stopped seeing plain white and started to pick up cracks in what it he slowly recognised as a white ceiling. Realising that he probably wasn’t going to get far looking at a ceiling, he managed to tilt his head down a little, and his eyes focused on something a little more challenging in terms of colour. Still predominantly white, the clothing encompassed a young woman with dark hair and blue eyes which smiled when they saw him.

“You’re awake!”

Even as dopey as he still felt, this struck him as rather an obvious remark. There didn’t seem to be much he could usefully add to the observation, even if his throat had felt up to talking, so he stayed silent.

“How are you feeling?”

He pulled a face. Now he thought about it, he was feeling fairly awful. In fact, now he thought about it, he had no idea what had happened or why he was here.

The nurse smiled at him softly. “Feeling a bit sore? Well, it’s hardly surprising, but it’s good to see you awake. You’ve been out of it for a while. Can you tell me your name?”

He couldn’t. His mouth opened, but nothing came out, and he wasn’t even sure if it was a mechanical failure, or his brain seizing up. He just knew that as soon as he tried to think of his name, that surge of darkness enveloped him.

~oOo~

This time when he awoke, he was alone. At least, he had the illusion of being alone. It was obvious from the sounds around him that he was on a hospital ward, but the flimsy curtain drawn around his bed gave him some privacy. His head was feeling clearer.

Cautiously, he explored the question of his identity. There no longer seemed to be the same problem as on his previous awakening. His name was Ray Doyle. Good. That bit was fine. And he was…? CI5. Not so good, judging by the heavy clenching of his gut as the memory formed. Did he want to go further? No, but his memory seemed to have other ideas. What came next was more than a name; it was a whole, vivid identity. And not his. Slightly taller than him, more solidly built, tall, dark and engagingly modest (where did that come from?) dark hair, blue eyes that shifted colour as their owner shifted moods.

Bodie.

Hell and damnation.

Memory crashed in on him, and the pain was fiercer than anything his body was producing.

One week earlier

Irritably, Doyle drove around the hospital car park for the second time, looking in vain for a space. Finally, he gave up and dumped the Capri on a double yellow line, dragging his CI5 authorisation out of the glove compartment to display on the windscreen and uttering a silent prayer that this flagrant misuse of official property wouldn’t get back to Cowley. The Scotsman took a dim view of his agents taking advantage of government property in such ways. But he was on CI5 business of a sort, he reminded himself, heading rapidly for the entrance. He had his partner to collect and take home.

Fifteen minutes later, with Bodie safely ensconced in the seat beside him, he was aware of an unexpected sense of well-being. Bodie’s injuries had been relatively minor, all things considered, but the A&E doctor had insisted on him staying in overnight for observation. He would be off work for the next few days, but there was no lasting damage.

Fiercely pushing to one side the recollection of the incident that had led to Bodie’s injuries, he concentrated on driving, hoping this would quell the rising nausea.

An hour later, the nausea was still there, and threatening to erupt. Bodie had been glad to get home, complaining about the lack of sleep that was an inevitable consequence of a night under observation and making light of his various bumps and bruises. Doyle, unable to expunge the image of his partner standing full in the sights of the rifle held by their quarry, had snapped at him. Bodie might have had little sleep last night, but Doyle was damn sure he had had even less. In fact, he hadn’t slept at all. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the same sequence playing out, but this time he did not move fast enough. He couldn’t get there in time to push his partner out of the bullet’s way; instead, he stood, frozen in place, and watched as the bullets smashed into Bodie’s head, his chest, his head again…

After the third all-action colour replay, he had given up on trying sleep, and sat nursing a cup of coffee on the bedroom windowsill until it was light enough for him to start a new day.

Those hours staring blindly out at a darkened street had been bitter. He could no longer pretend ignorance of the depth and nature of his feelings for Bodie. Their jobs were dangerous, and every day could be the one they didn’t make it through to see the sunset. Doyle had no idea what had suddenly changed for him that day, but the hours of enforced introspection compelled him to admit that the change had, in fact, been happening for longer than he would ever have acknowledged before tonight. Probably been there for years, only I was too stupid to see it, he thought dispiritedly. Honesty compelled him to amend this to too scared.

For one fleeting moment, he let himself dwell on the possibility that Bodie might feel the same way. The fantasy faded almost before he had conjured it up. Bodie, the stud of CI5, was hardly likely to have developed a sudden overwhelming urge for his male partner. The thought that the same could be said of him flitted across his mind, only to be rapidly dismissed. His stud activities had been nothing but show for months now. Bleakly, he realised that he must have been nurturing these feelings for a lot longer than his conscious mind cared to admit.

So what the hell do I do now? I can’t just ignore this. Would it be better to come clean about it to Bodie, or just try to carry on as normal and hope he doesn’t notice? Maybe I can keep it under control. I don’t want to work with anyone else; I don’t think I could be partnered off with another agent, not after all these years. It just wouldn’t work. I’m too used to Bodie. Probably end up screwing up totally if Cowley put me with any of the others. Anyway, I’d be worried stiff about Bodie the whole time.

Doesn’t leave me many choices, then really. Either I try to pretend nothing’s happened, and I can’t see that working for long; I get right out, resign – and do what? – or I tell Bodie and let him decide. Can’t see him being that keen on working with me once I’ve told him what’s going on, anyway, but at least it gives him the choice. If I just up and leave, he’d never forgive me. Hell, he’ll probably never forgive me anyway.

His thoughts circled drearily round in his head, like a record stuck in a groove. There was no easy way out of this one, and by the time he had to go and collect Bodie from hospital, he was still no clearer about what to do next.

So there he was, sitting on Bodie’s sofa, drinking coffee he had made for them both, and listening to Bodie moan on about hospitals and the shortage of attractive nurses, while all the time his own guts were churning and he was struggling to maintain the tight control he had over his tongue.

He should have known it wouldn’t last. Controlling his tongue had never been one of his strong points.

~oOo~

An hour later, it was over. The partnership, the friendship, the last seven years. Finished.

Two hours later, and he was on his bike, heading out of London with no clear idea of where he was going or what he was going to do when he got there. Behind him, he had left most of his possessions, his gun, ID, car keys, flat keys and a letter of resignation perched prominently on top of the pile. He gave no explanation in the letter, but knew Cowley would find out soon enough from Bodie. His ex-partner’s shock and then contempt had been sufficient to leave Doyle in no doubt that his reason for leaving would be made very clear to Cowley.

Bodie had reacted exactly the way Doyle’s imagination had sketched out vividly in his worst nightmare. As his partner struggled, haltingly, to explain his feelings, Bodie’s expression, initially puzzled, had changed rapidly. At first, clearly, he thought Doyle was taking the piss, but once forced to realise that Ray meant every word, his eyes darkened, his brows snapped together and he lurched away from the huddled figure still trying to explain what Doyle himself barely understood yet.

Standing with his back to the lounge wall, his undamaged arm cradling his sling and a piece of white gauze covering the small wound on his temple, Bodie could barely speak when Ray fell silent. He took a deep breath, and Ray, unable to look away, watched the emotions reflected in the dark eyes and knew that his gamble had failed. He was getting up to leave even before Bodie opened his mouth, but the venomous words that followed him around the room as he picked up his jacket, pulled his boots back on and made his way blindly to the door were seared into his memory.

“You’re a fucking pansy? I don’t believe it! All these years and you’ve never said a word! So what about all those birds, then? Just camouflage, were they? Pulling the wool over Cowley’s eyes? And mine? Is that it? Christ, all this time, and I never even guessed that my partner was a frigging fairy. I suppose I should just be grateful you never tried it on with me before, eh, mate? If you fancy me like you say? God, all this time and I never even knew you, did I? You must have been laughing at me all the time. Well, you can get the fuck out of here and out of my life. I’m not being partnered with a faggot, I can tell you that now. I’m calling Cowley first thing tomorrow morning. You can find yourself someone else to work with – assuming Cowley doesn’t boot you out first. If it were up to me, mate, you’d be out on that pretty arse of yours so fast, you wouldn’t know what’s hit you, but I guess it’s no concern of mine.”

The bitter voice continued, but Doyle had slammed the door shut and the stream of invective was muffled. He never knew how he got home in one piece, had no recollection of the drive at all. The next thing his numbed brain registered was that he was in his flat, apparently planning to leave as he was stuffing clothes into a holdall.

It hadn’t taken long to pack. There wasn’t much that he wanted to take with him. He didn’t know where he would go, but there was no point in taking much of his old life with him. That was over, finished. Best to leave it behind him, as much as he could. So he just shoved a selection of clothes in to the bag, added some wash things, and, after a moment’s hesitation, one photo of Bode and him taken at the last CI5 Christmas party. They had been mildly drunk, and fooling around for the camera Murphy had suddenly produced from his pocket. Looking at it now, the two of them with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders, made Doyle want to scream with rage and bitterness, but he clamped down on the urge to tear the photo up and instead pushed it carefully into the inner zip pocket of his bag.

One final glance around the flat, and he was ready to leave. All that remained to do was to confirm his departure. Grabbing some notepaper, his letter of resignation was completed in two hasty sentences. Leaving it on top of the coffee table, he piled alongside it his gun, ammo, ID and the keys to his flat and his car. Cowley wasn’t expecting him back at work for the next couple of days, but he had no doubt in his mind that Bodie would do as he said and call the Controller first thing the next day. His belongings would be found soon enough. If he left now, he should be able to get far enough away for no-one to find him, even if they wanted to. Somehow, he doubted that anyone would care to try. His going was the easy way out for everyone.

~oOo~

Shifting uncomfortably on the narrow hospital mattress, Doyle tried desperately to stop the flow of memories, but it seemed that his mind, now recovering from the blow to his head, was determined to prove it was in full working order.

He had driven out of London with no real idea of where to go. He must have been on the road for an hour before any of the signposts registered, and then he greeted the signs for Brighton with complete indifference. Only as he headed further down the A23 did some grudging awareness cross his mind that Brighton was, if nothing else, a large enough place for him to go to ground in until he decided what, exactly, he was going to do with the rest of his life.

In the short term, he found a cheap B&B about half a mile inland, and spent the first couple of days he was there simply walking along the seafront. One day he went west as far as he could; the next he turned in the other direction. He could have told an enquirer exactly nothing about either day. He felt completely numb, unable to process anything except the most simple of requirements. Breakfast was the only meal he ate, and that only because it was provided. The full English was beyond him, and after half a piece of toast he was unable to swallow more, but at least the coffee helped to get him moving after a night spent tossing and turning in the strange bed.

The third and fourth days he repeated the long walks, but on the fifth, the weather was so appalling even his sluggish body rejected the prospect of another walk. Instead, he pulled on his leathers and retrieved his motorbike from the garage where he had been instructed to leave it on his arrival. Pointing it towards the South Downs, he headed out of town as fast as the heavy rush hour traffic would allow him.

It was at this point that Doyle realised his memory was not, in fact, intact. Try as he might, he could not recall anything between leaving Brighton on his motorbike, and waking in hospital that first time.

The sounds of the hospital around him quietened gradually, and he decided that it must be evening. As the curtain partitioning him from the rest of the ward rattled, he hastily closed his eyes. He was in no mood for talking, and feigning sleep seemed a good avoidance technique. A soft voice spoke a few words to him, but he ignored it. His pulse and temperature were taken, but then the curtain rattled on its metal support again and he was left alone.

He could never say afterwards exactly at what point during that long night the idea came to him. Looking back, it seemed so obvious that perhaps it was already there, partly formed in the recesses of his mind. After all, he was putting his old life comprehensively behind him now, wasn’t he? Even if not of his own volition. So why not do so more thoroughly, and possibly make things a little easier for himself, too? If he told the hospital staff his name, chances were that Cowley would find him. Doyle was under no illusions about being indispensable to CI5, but the Controller was not the man to allow an agent simply to leave. When one of his A squad resigned, they were subject to rigorous debriefing, and random spot-checks and tails for months, in the interests of security. While Cowley had no doubt heard all about the circumstances of his departure from his aggrieved partner by now, he would certainly want to see Doyle in person.

Probably tear me to shreds too, he thought, glumly. I bet he’ll think I might have been a security risk for years, nurturing this secret perversion. Well, to hell with it. I don’t reckon I owe CI5 anything, and I’m not going to talk to Cowley about any of this – or Ross, for that matter. If I can just keep quiet about who I am until I can get out of here, I should be able to avoid them long enough to decide just what the fuck I’m going to do for the rest of my life.

~oOo~

“Now, dear, are you feeling a bit better this morning?” Breakfast had come and gone, in Doyle’s case mostly untouched. The nurse checked his chart as she spoke, and then settled down in the chair by the side of his bed, clipboard still in one hand. When he remained silent, she frowned slightly and repeated the question. The confusion in his eyes was not entirely feigned; he had been lying there vainly trying to recall the accident which had brought him here.

“A bit, yeah.”

“Good. The doctor will be round mid-morning, and he can explain things to you, but in the meantime I just need to get some details from you, if you’re feeling up to it.” She smiled, and Doyle managed a slight nod of assent. “I’m afraid that when you were brought in, you had no form of identification on you at all, so we’ll have to start at the beginning. Can you tell me your name?”

Hoping that he would be convincing, Doyle shook his head slowly, allowing a frown to form across his bruised face. “I can’t seem to remember…” Clutching his hand convulsively on the sheet, he stayed silent for a few moments longer before continuing. “I’ve tried to remember what happened, but I just can’t. And every time I try to remember my name, or anything about me, it’s like trying to grab hold of jelly – nothing will stay still long enough for me to hold on to it. I keep thinking if I try hard enough it will come back to me, but it just won’t.”

The look of pain on his face was sufficient to convince the nurse not to push further at the moment. Resting her own hand lightly on the fisted one still clutching at the sheet, she smiled calmly at him. “Don’t worry too much about it at the moment. You did have quite a knock on the head, and this sort of short-term amnesia isn’t uncommon in such circumstances. Your memory will probably come back in a day or so, and you won’t be fit to be discharged anyway until a bit longer than that, so not to worry. The main problem is not being able to let anyone know that you’re here and alright, if a bit battered at the moment, but there’s not much we can do about that.”

“Can you tell me what happened? How long have I been here?”

She shifted slightly in the plastic chair. “I can’t tell you too much, because we do like patients with memory loss to recall things on their own, but I can fill you in a bit. You were brought in a couple of evenings ago after the emergency services took a call from a woman who’d been up on the Downs walking her dog. It seems the dog found you lying by the side of the path, but she had to wait until she got back to the village to call. From the state you were in when they got you here, I’d say you must have been lying there for some time, probably half a day. Of course, the weather was appalling, and you had injuries which weren’t helped by being wet and cold. The doctor can tell you more about that when he comes round. The strange thing is that you looked dressed for being on a motorbike, but there was no sign of one anywhere.”

Patting his hand again, she got up and hung the chart back on the end of the bed. “Don’t you worry,” she repeated kindly. “Just rest and concentrate on getting better. I’m sure it will all come back to you soon.”

~oOo~

Lying uncomfortably in bed later that afternoon, Doyle was glad of the curtain pulled around the bed again. He had asked the nurse who cleared his lunch tray to close it, feeling unable to face interrogation from the patient in the bed next to him. The man’s ears had pricked up the moment he overheard the doctor mention “temporary amnesia” during his morning rounds. He appeared fascinated by the idea that his wardmate did not know who he was, and was convinced that all Doyle needed was to be asked enough questions for everything to come flooding back. He put this theory into practice with a level of enthusiasm Doyle hadn’t seen since he had had to attend the last new recruits’ session at CI5. By the time lunch arrived, Doyle was exhausted, and his head was pounding enough to make the offer of a painkiller more than attractive.

Now, as he lay there listening to the noises around him, the arrival and departure of visitors, the clatter of the tea trolley and the chatter, he wondered desperately if he would be able to maintain the deception. Could he keep it up long enough to get himself out of hospital and back to the B&B to retrieve what belongings he had? The doctor’s visit this morning had made it clear that he would not be going anyway for another few days. His injuries, he had been told, were consistent with a fall from a bike, although he also appeared to have been attacked as there was bruising that could not be accounted for otherwise. Doyle had raised an eyebrow at that, the state of his body leading him to the conviction that he was covered in bruises, so one more or less could hardly be deemed significant. He was informed, however, that some of the bruises were clearly from a boot, and it seemed probable that the head injury was also the result of a kick. The doctor had explained that he had not been wearing a helmet when he was found, but that the police investigating the accident had found one a short distance away. The helmet was in good condition but with some new scratches and dents, and the police had deduced from this that he had been wearing it when he came off his bike. Either he subsequently removed it himself or, the doctor explained dryly, it was done for him. The latter certainly seemed the most likely scenario, and the police were even now checking for fingerprints.

The news that he may have been the victim of an attack came as a surprise to Doyle. In the course of his job, he was accustomed to being on the receiving end of both punches and kicks, but while out for an innocuous ride on the South Downs? It seemed bizarre, but he couldn’t be bothered to worry about it. What had happened had happened, and as with the circumstances that had brought him here in the first place, there was no point dwelling on them. He simply had to deal with the consequences. He only hoped the police search for fingerprints would not lead to his own identity being revealed yet.

~oOo~

“Well, 3.7?”

Bodie stood uneasily in front of his boss, uncertain of why he had been called in. He was supposed to have had another full day’s sick leave, and had been intending to spend today as he had spent the last four, searching for his partner.

“Sir?”

The glint in Cowley’s eye gave him a moment’s warning.

“Perhaps, 3.7, you would care to explain these?” Opening a drawer, he pulled out a sheet of notepaper, a pile of keys, a gun, ammo and an ID wallet. All items Bodie had last seen piled on the coffee table in his partner’s flat, and which he had carefully left there in the hopes they would be needed again as soon as he found Doyle and knocked some sense into him.

Cowley let the silence stretch for nearly a minute before snapping, “Well, come on, man. Answer me! You’re clearly not surprised, so perhaps you’d like to tell me exactly why 4.5 has seen fit to resign with no notice and no discussion?”

Shit. What do I tell him? “I’m not exactly sure, sir. He didn’t tell me, either.” Which was the truth, if somewhat misleading.

“Och, sit down. Now, I’ve no time to waste on this, Bodie. I need him back, and you’re the one most likely to be able to explain just what’s going on. When did you last see Doyle?”

“He picked me up from hospital, sir.”

“And?”

“Sir?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Bodie! I don’t suppose he just collected you and dropped you off at your flat, did he? No doubt he came in, helped you settle?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, what happened then? How long did he stay?”

In the face of the implacable questioning, Bodie realised that stalling was only going to make matters worse. If he really aggravated Cowley, it would achieve nothing. “He stayed for about an hour, sir. We had a – a bit of a disagreement about something, and I suppose I was a bit short with him because I hadn’t slept well in hospital and my arm was throbbing. He left in a strop, and I haven’t seen him since.” Using every considerable ounce of guile he possessed, he gazed into Cowley’s eyes, willing him to leave it at that.

There was shrewd look in the gaze which met his. Cowley nodded once, before saying tersely, “Very well. We’ll leave it at that for the moment. “This,” he indicated the heap of belongings now littered across with his desk with a sweep of his hand, “was found yesterday when I sent 2.9 round to see why 4.5 had neither reported for duty nor called in. We tried contacting you also, 3.7, but appears you were out of R/T range all day.”

The last remark was almost a question, and Bodie had nodded before realising how this might be interpreted. To his dismay, though not surprise, Cowley leapt on it straightaway. “So if you were out of range all day, despite being on sick leave, perhaps you would like to tell me where you were? Or shall I guess? Were you by any chance already aware that your partner had resigned, and had you gone looking for him?”

Bodie cursed bitterly but silently before drawing breath. “Yes, sir, I was looking for him, but I didn’t know he had resigned, sir.” Sometimes the military approach worked best with Cowley, reining in his martinet tendencies. Of course, sometimes it had the opposite effect. The trick was knowing which sometimes applied when, and Bodie excelled at this.

He had got it right again, he realised with a sigh of relief, as Cowley’s dour expression relaxed a little. It wasn’t that he didn’t want help finding Doyle – he had spent the last four days looking in all the places he could think of and had run out of ideas halfway through yesterday – but he really did not want to have to give details of why Ray had left so precipitously. God knows, he was still trying to come to terms with it himself. The idea of having to explain it to someone else made him feel distinctly green. Though perhaps yellow would be a better description.

~oOo~

Bodie had been so wrapped up in his own anger, he hadn’t registered Doyle’s stricken departure, but the familiar sound of the Capri’s engine made him lift his eyes to the window he was leaning against, just in time to see the car swing fiercely out into the traffic with little regard to other road users. He cursed, long and loud, condemning his partner to every circle of hell and then some. For God’s sake, I just don’t believe it. How could he do this to me? I’ve just got out of hospital, and he goes and springs something like this on me? How the hell did he think I was going to react? Finding out, after all this time, that my partner’s a fucking faggot?

His bitter thoughts went round and round, but gradually they lost some impetus. By the time he had been in bed for several hours, staring hopelessly at the walls, the ceiling – anything to try and blank out the thoughts that prevented him sleeping – he was forced to accept the truth. What was making him so angry was not the revelation of Doyle’s sexual proclivity, but the fact that he, the man’s partner for so long, had not known. Had not even guessed.

And what does that say about me, then? Supposed to be a trained observer, able to spot a potential security risk a mile off, read body language like it’s Janet and John, and I had no idea. Not a bloody clue.

Eventually, the treadmill of his thoughts slowed enough to allow his body the sleep his injuries craved, but it was not restful. Despite his often violent lifestyle, Bodie was a man at peace with himself in a way his partner would never be, and it was rare for him to dream. Even rarer for him to be troubled by nightmares. But tonight was the exception. It seemed that every time he closed his eyes, he was assailed by hideous visions.

After the third such experience, followed by another jolting awakening, he propped himself up in bed and switched on the light. 4am. God, I hate being awake this early when I don’t have to be.

Resolutely, he determined to try and think calmly about what had happened, but despite his best efforts, he kept being distracted by the visions from his dreams. Suddenly, realisation struck. In differing manifestations, all the nightmares he had endured tonight had boiled down to one issue. Ray leaving him. For good.

This is bloody stupid. I’m lying here awake, in the middle of the night, having bad dreams about being deserted by my partner. My effing partner who, I’ve just found out, is GAY! So why the hell am I dreaming about this now? It makes absolutely no sense.

Shivering slightly, he looked at the clock on the bedside table. 4.45am. Not much better, really. Sighing, he got up, dragged a dressing gown on, careful of his injured arm, and headed into the kitchen to make coffee. If he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well do it properly.

Two cups of coffee later, he was reliving the previous day’s encounter. Years of training enabled him, now he was somewhat calmer, to reconstruct not only what had been said, but the expressions on Doyle’s face. As he recalled this, he found himself on his feet, pacing. His gut was twisting, and a cold nausea was making itself felt as his mind ruthlessly relived his bitter words, and the look on Doyle’s face as he left; the look Bodie hadn’t even registered at the time. Too bloody busy being macho, his internal narrative callously supplied. After a moment’s resistance, he ruefully accepted the truth of this. He had known all along that his own sexual tastes were somewhat broader than sat comfortably with his chosen line of work, and so had suppressed any urge to act on his bisexual tendencies as a matter of course. That wasn’t to say that he hadn’t slipped from the straight and narrow on occasion, but having seen what happened to men in the army and the security services who had been outed, he had been extremely careful. Most of the time, he didn’t acknowledge the need even to himself.

So when Ray comes along and tells me he feels the same way, what do I do but bawl him out! Why the hell couldn’t I have kept my big mouth shut? Mind you, he didn’t exactly pick his moment, did he? I mean, there I am, just out of hospital, not exactly at my best, and he chooses that moment of all-.

Damascene enlightenment had not featured in Bodie’s life to date, but suddenly he could have given St Paul a run for his money. Later, if he could have been persuaded to recall that dreadful night, he would have sworn that the sun rose at exactly the moment realisation dawned. Of course Doyle had picked that moment. He had got his first chance to talk to Bodie alone after seeing his partner nearly killed in front of him. It was the nearest miss either of them had had in a while, and if Doyle’s aim had been less than perfect, Bodie would be dead. No question about it. No wonder the man could no longer keep quiet.

~oOo~

He was round at Doyle’s three-quarters of an hour later. The Capri was parked outside, and he was aware of a slight release of tension. If the car was still there, then that must mean that Ray was inside.

When there was no answer to his persistent knocking, he dragged out his set of keys. While it wasn’t exactly standard practice for partners to have keys to each other’s flats, it wasn’t unheard of either, and Bodie and Doyle had been routinely swapping keys for years.

Flinging open the door, preparing to yell out Ray’s name, the words stuck in his throat. In full view of where he stood was the coffee table on which was piled a stack of items that made him feel cold. Gun, ID, keys…

Oh God.

No wonder the Capri was still parked outside. It belonged to CI5, and Ray, quite obviously, was offloading his life in CI5.

Had offloaded it.

~oOo~

The next few days were hell. His injuries, though relatively minor, were sufficiently trying not to appreciate being dragged round every haunt of Doyle’s that memory could dredge up, but he ignored their complaints. This was far more important.

Unfortunately, it was also completely unprofitable. There was no sign of Doyle anywhere, no evidence that he had been anywhere near any of the places Bodie tried. By the time Cowley’s summons reached him, Bodie was almost relieved. At least it might mean he would be able to use the wide resources of CI5 to try tracing his errant partner. Sure enough, once Cowley had finished with him, he was dismissed with instructions to “find your partner and bring him back here, quickly! He has some explaining to do.”

Blessing the rapid advance in computing which made tracing credit card usage so much less laborious than when he had first started in CI5, Bodie spent the rest of the day in the computer room, but his optimism faded as the day wore on with no progress except of the negative variety. There was no record of Doyle’s credit card being used, no record of him having hired a car locally and a check on the phone records from his flat showed he had made no calls in the last ten days other than either to the hospital or to CI5 HQ. A search on the motorbike’s registration number similarly drew a blank, although at least he was able to send out a request to all the police forces across the country to keep an eye out for it.

Reluctantly, Bodie also put in motion a check on hospital admissions. It was more than likely that Ray was simply holed up somewhere, but it didn’t do to overlook the obvious.

~oOo~

After three days in hospital, Doyle was getting distinctly edgy. So far, he had managed to maintain the charade of amnesia, but he could tell that his doctor was considering further tests, concerned that his memory was still being elusive, and Ray had no desire to prolong this. Moreover, his instinct for trouble, finely honed after years in the police and CI5, had woken up in no uncertain terms. He could almost feel the search that he knew was being conducted for him, and he did not dare spend any more time in hospital. He had to get out, today, but quite how he was going to contrive to leave with no clothes, his having apparently been cut off him on his arrival at A&E, and the grand total of ten pounds in his non-existent pocket, he had yet to work out.

The opportunity presented itself after lunch. It was a wet Saturday, and everyone else on the ward was busy with visitors. Despite the stated restriction of two per bed, his neighbours either side both had least double that number of people hovering around them, and the temperature in the overheated ward ensured that damp coats were discarded wherever room could be found. Taking advantage of this, Doyle lifted a long woollen coat off the chair next to him while the visitors were deep in conversation with the bed’s occupant. Draping it casually over one arm to conceal his boots (which fortunately had survived relatively unscathed) gripped tightly in his left hand, he strolled past the nurses’ desk as if on his way to the day room. They never even noticed him pass.

Glancing quickly up and down the corridor outside the ward, Doyle dragged the boots on and pulled the coat over his hospital-issue pyjamas. Immediately, he looked like a visitor, not a patient – unless, of course, anyone looked at him too closely. The bruising was still in a state of full glory, and anyone seeing his face would definitely notice and remember him. Keeping his head down as much as he could, while still following the signs that would get him out of the rabbit warren that confirmed the hospital’s Victorian origins, was a challenge, but he made it to the main doors with no trouble.

Once there, he hesitated. He was not familiar with the backstreets of Brighton, having always tended to stick to the seafront or the Lanes area, like most visitors on a day trip to the town. He knew that the hospital could not be that far from the B&B, but without a precise location, he could end up walking miles in the wrong direction. Reluctantly conceding that his state of health would not tolerate this at present, he made his way to the taxi rank on the opposite side of the road and gave the driver the name of the B&B.

~oOo~

Saturday morning found Bodie back at HQ, analysing the latest reports to come in. He had extended the hospital search to those outside the London area, and was now trawling through reports from A&E departments of admissions matching the physical description he had given.

His eye glided over it at first, and he was just stretching out a hand for the next hospital’s list when something nagged at his consciousness. Frowning, he checked what he had just read, and an instant later was on his feet and heading for the car park.

The traffic out of London was appalling, even for a Saturday. It took him over an hour to get onto the A23, but once on it the press of vehicles lessened and he flattened the accelerator. By 3pm, he was on the outskirts of the town.

Luckily, the hospital was not far off the main approach road, and dumping the car in a car park clearly marked “Staff Use Only”, he charged through the main doors, ID at the ready.  
The receptionist checked the records while Bodie shuffled impatiently from foot to foot, and she had barely finished giving him directions before he was off, up several flights of stairs and along various cluttered corridors to the ward she had named. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and went inside, eyes immediately scanning the room for his partner. The description had been close enough to make him 95% sure of finding Doyle here, but the mention of memory loss unnerved him, and inwardly he was bracing himself for what would, either way, be an awkward encounter.

But there was no sign of Ray. Fighting back a surge of frustration, he finally managed to attract the notice of one of the nurses and having produced his ID once again he had her full attention. He showed her a photo of Ray, and was relieved when she recognised him as her patient.

“Can I speak to him?”

“Yes, of course. He’s in bed seven, over there against the far wall.” They both started moving in the direction she had indicated, only to realise before taking more than a couple of steps that the bed in question was empty.

“That’s strange. He’s not been up and about much. Tends just to pull the curtain round and lie there. Of course, he is getting a bit more mobile now, but still… You wait here a moment, I’ll go and see if he’s in the day room.” With a brief smile she hurried off, leaving Bodie to go over to the bed where he stood looking absently around the small area. There was nothing in the bedside cabinet, no trace that his partner had ever been here. Bodie’s heart sank. He was getting a nasty feeling about this.

Sure enough, a couple of minutes later the nurse reappeared, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, there’s no sign of him in the day room. I really don’t know where else he could have gone.”

“Did he have anything in this cupboard?” Bodie asked, opening the door again to reveal its emptiness.

“Well, not much, because he had hardly anything on him when he was brought in, you know. In fact, I think all he had here was a watch, a little money and a pair of boots. The rest of his clothes were cut off him in A&E, and he didn’t have any other personal possessions or we might have been able to identify him.”

The last words were spoken in a slightly raised voice, to accommodate the increased noise from the adjacent bed as the crowd of visitors rose to leave. A moment later, the noise level grew even greater, and Bodie was just following the nurse back to the desk in an effort to continue their conversation somewhere quieter when a few words pierced his concentration. Swinging around, he grabbed the arm of the irate looking man who appeared to be at the centre of the noise.

“What did you just say, mate?”

“Someone’s nicked my coat! I left it here, on this chair, when I came in, and now it’s gone. Honestly, you’d think you’d be safe enough leaving a coat around in a hospital, wouldn’t you? I mean, what are things coming to when you can’t even leave a-.”

“What did it look like?”

“What?” Interrupted in mid-flow, the man blinked at Bodie.

“Your coat. Was it long, short? What colour?”

“Long. It’s a long, dark grey overcoat. My best.”

He was talking to Bodie’s back.

Leaving the ward at a run, he was back at the main reception desk within a minute, but no-one had noticed anything. He spotted the taxi rank outside the building, and knew a sliver of hope. Doyle was hurt, no doubt about that, and therefore probably not fit to walk any distance. Assuming that he had been staying somewhere in this area, given where he had ended up in hospital, then there was a fairly good chance that he would have taken a taxi to collect the few belongings he had brought away from his flat.

Identifying himself as CI5 to the taxi driver at the end of the queue, guessing rightly that he would be more willing to help him since he would be less likely than those at the front to miss a fare as a result, it took only five minutes to get the information he needed. Ten minutes and a radio consultation with the taxi’s office later, he had pulled up in front of the small B&B whose address he had been given, and was through the door in an instant, leaving the Capri abandoned on the double yellow lines outside without a moment’s thought.

The landlady did not recognise Doyle’s name, but the photo got him his partner’s room number, and the information that yes, he had come back a short time ago after several days’ unexplained absence, and was even now upstairs, presumably packing, as his booking had expired this morning.

~oOo~

Doyle had to sit down for a few minutes on the bed before he could do anything else. Just the short flight of stairs to his first-floor room had exhausted him, and he couldn’t for the moment think what to do. He couldn’t stay here, that much was obvious to him. Every instinct was screaming at him to move, to get out, but his body was hurting too much to obey.

When the knock sounded on the door, he knew without looking who it was.

He felt a strange numbness settle around him, as if some ethereal stage manager had dropped an invisible curtain between him and his surroundings. Everything around him, every sound, lost clarity and focus. He watched blankly as the door opened and his former partner stalked in. He knew that Bodie had slammed the door shut behind him, but the sound was muffled and distant, rather like Bodie’s face as it swam before his eyes. He tried blinking hard, to see if this would sort out the strangeness affecting his vision, but it made no difference. He tried again, finding it harder this time to lift his eyelids. A voice distorted in his ears, the words making no sense, and the feel of a hand clamping around his bruised arm made him jump. Briefly, he forced his eyes to focus and was aware of his partner’s face looming over him, the brows snapped together and the lips thinning, before the darkness that was trying to enfold him succeeded.

~oOo~

The adrenaline still rushing through Bodie’s system meant that he laid his partner flat on the bed with rather more vigour than he had intended. A quick check showed that Doyle had fainted, and now that Bodie had a chance to take in the extent of Ray’s injuries, he could only be surprised that he had got this far before passing out.

Aware that the sensible course of action would be to return Doyle to his hospital bed, Bodie nonetheless hesitated. Short of standing guard over him, it would be impossible to keep him there, and Bodie had no intention of chasing his partner all over the British Isles if it could be avoided.

Rapidly he checked the room for Doyle’s belongings. There were very few, and it took him only a couple of minutes to pack them in the holdall and take it out to the car. On his way back in, he checked with the landlady that there was no outstanding payment due, and then explained briefly that his friend had been hurt in a car accident and that he had come to collect him and take him home. He would have preferred to say nothing, but aware that he would probably end up carrying Ray down to the car, he decided to avoid any likelihood of her calling the police the moment his back was turned. He did not want Cowley to know that Doyle had been traced; at least, not until he and Ray had had a chance to talk.

Grimly pushing aside the depressing prospect of just how that talk was likely to go, given the last words he had exchanged with his partner, he headed back up the stairs. His heart contracted at the sight of Ray, battered and pale, still lying as he had left him, but it was so long since he had allowed himself to feel compassion that he could hardly recognise the emotion in himself. Uncertain of how to handle the forthcoming confrontation, and irritated by his uncertainty, he levered Doyle to his feet and got an arm around him. The movement brought some awareness back to the limp figure, and Bodie was relieved to feel his partner beginning to support some of his weight as he half steered, half dragged him down the stairs. Getting him into the back of the car was no fun, and he grunted with relief as he finally contrived to get the last limb in safely and close the door.

He had managed to get Doyle mostly flat on the back seat, and for once he drove with less than his usual enthusiasm. The benefits of this unusual control were twofold; Doyle was less likely to wake up if the journey was smooth, thus sparing Bodie the potential inquisition his partner was liable to subject him to, and the injured man was also more likely to stay on the seat and thereby avoid aggravating his injuries.

Somewhat to Bodie’s amazement, it seemed his ploy worked. Two hours later, he pulled up outside his own flat having heard no sound from Doyle throughout the journey. While driving, he had wondered if there might be somewhere else he could take Ray. Bringing him back to a CI5 flat was a little too close to Cowley to be entirely comfortable, but in the end he could think of no alternative.

Having extricated Ray with some difficulty from the back seat, he man-handled him into the building, grateful that this particular block of flats had a lift. What was more, it was working.

With his partner safely tucked into his host’s bed, Bodie poured himself a stiff drink. He felt he had earned it. Checking the time, he decided the first thing to do was to try and find out a little more about his partner’s injuries. Calling the hospital would also allow him to let them know that their patient was safe, and would not be returning. It took every ounce of his charm to soothe the nurse he finally got through to, but the effort was worth it. Once she had calmed down, she fetched Doyle’s chart and talked Bodie through exactly what his friend’s injuries were and what treatment he had received. It was a tribute to Bodie’s silver tongue that he managed to extract all this information without first supplying his partner’s identity, an oversight he maintained for the duration of the call, hanging up before she could insist. It was a relief to know that none of the injuries Doyle had sustained were particularly dangerous, although he knew from his own experience that they would be painful for some time to come. The major concern, according to the nurse, had been the patient’s failure to recover his memory, and Bodie had his own theories about this. He would reserve judgement until Doyle came round again, but it did not seem to him, in those few brief moments after he had found Doyle in his room in Brighton, that Ray was in any doubt about the identity of his visitor. Too close to fainting to be coherent: yes. Uncertain of who Bodie was: no. He was sure of it.

~oOo~

Doyle slept through all Bodie’s activities that night. Bathing, ordering a takeaway, going out to collect it, eating it in front of the usual Saturday evening rubbish on the television; nothing disturbed the sleeping man. Bodie was half relieved, half irritated, but was finally forced to accept that he would get no further tonight. Besides, he was not fully recovered himself, and his own body was leaving him in no doubt about its need for rest. Going into his room, he eyed Doyle thoughtfully. The bed was large one, and would be so much more comfortable than the sofa.

Discretion won out in the end, however. At a conscious level, he gave himself the excuse of not wanting to hurt his partner by accidentally rolling on him in the night; but he was uncomfortably aware also that he was worried about how Doyle would react if he woke up to find Bodie asleep next to him. Grabbing the spare duvet from the top of the wardrobe and one of the pillows from the bed, he got himself settled on the sofa. He had expected to lie awake, but in fact was asleep within minutes, reassured by his partner’s presence in the adjacent room.

~oOo~

Ray shifted, trying to relieve stiff muscles without provoking more pain. His body felt easier today, more as if belonged to him, and his mind felt clearer too. Opening his eyes, he saw, not the hospital ward he had been expecting, but-.

Bodie’s bedroom? How the hell did I get here?

For one horrified moment, he thought maybe he had come calling on the man whose last words he could recall so vividly as he cast Ray out of his life for ever. Then common sense prevailed. Even he wasn’t that stupid. No way on earth would he willingly have come back for another round of that.

Which means that someone must have brought me here. I remember leaving the hospital, getting back to the B&B.

He frowned, trying to recall anything subsequent to that. He thought he could remember seeing Bodie, but was it real? It had felt more like a dream, but finding himself now in the man’s flat was making it seem more likely that Bodie really had been there.

OK, assume that Bodie did find me and bring me back to his flat, what the hell does he want from me? He wouldn’t waste all that time and energy just to have another go at me, and it’s not exactly like he left a lot unsaid.

A hideous thought suddenly occurred to him. Cowley. When he found out I’d gone, he wouldn’t have been best pleased. I bet he ordered Bodie to find me and bring me back. Wonder if Bodie’s told him yet why I went? Probably not, or the Cow would’ve got Murph or one of the others to come after me instead. At least, I hope he would.

God, how am I going to get out of here? I do NOT want to face Bodie again. If it’s over, it’s over. There’s no point in rehashing everything. I’ve got to get out of here. Wonder where he is now. I can’t hear any movement, so perhaps he’s gone out for a bit.

Looking round, he saw his watch on the bedside table and picked it up. Gloomily, he recognised that the likelihood of Bodie having popped out somewhere at 5.30am was pretty low. On the other hand, of course, he might still be asleep. Maybe, if he was very lucky, he could get out of the flat before he woke up?

But this plan was doomed to failure too, as he had known deep down it would be from the start. For one thing, it took him a lot longer than he liked to manoeuvre his aching body out of bed and find something to wear. For another, by the time he did manage to get himself out of the bedroom, Bodie was sitting at the table in the kitchen, two steaming mugs in front of him. Doyle very nearly turned right round and climbed back under the duvet, but he had never been a coward, and procrastination would achieve nothing. The sooner Bodie had his say, the sooner he could go.

As for where he would go, well, he would worry about that once he was out of the flat.

~oOo~

Bodie was petrified. He had heard Ray as soon as he started moving around in the bedroom, and had got himself up and into the kitchen to make tea on automatic pilot. A night’s sleep had eased his body, but had unfortunately failed to provide any ideas about how he could make things right with his partner. His brain felt like sludge, and he had never felt so scared in his life. He had faced armed terrorists with élan, hardened criminals with contempt, but his partner... Dear God, he’ll crucify me, and I deserve it.

Unable to look Ray in the face, he kept his eyes on his mug of tea, while registering every sound his partner made, every hesitation. Doyle lowered himself into the chair opposite and Bodie could hear the breathing becoming slightly harsher. He waited with dread for the outburst he knew was on its way.

A minute later, he was still waiting. Unable to stand the suspense any longer, he cautiously lifted his head, only to find that Ray’s eyes were fixed as firmly on his mug of tea as Bodie’s own had been. The faintest glimmer of hope trickled through him. If Ray hadn’t started shouting at him already, maybe that meant he might at least be willing to listen?

“Ray?” His voice stuck in his throat, and he tried again. “Ray?”

Lifeless eyes lifted and met his. The desolation he saw in them appalled him, not least because he knew himself to be responsible for it.

“God, Ray, I’m so sorry. So fucking sorry for everything I said to you.” He stopped, unsure what else to say. There was no encouragement in his partner’s face, not a flicker of change in the blank expression. Bodie knew if he left it here, he would never see Ray again. Somehow, he had to get through to him.

Taking a deep breath and wrapping his hands more firmly around his mug, he kept his eyes firmly fixed on Ray’s, willing him to see the depth of his sincerity. “Sorry’s hardly adequate, is it.” It wasn’t a question. “I’d do anything to take it back, anything to make me not have said what I did. But I can’t change it.” The malachite gaze showed no alteration. “Will you let me try and explain?”

The complete lack of any reaction was beginning to get to him, but he stifled his frustration fiercely. It was a miracle Ray was still here, sitting opposite him, and not halfway to god-knows-where. It was more than he had any right to expect. To hope for more, for sympathy, understanding, was unreasonable.

“Look, Ray, ever since - well, you know…I’ve been trying to work out why I lost my rag with you like that. The thing is - that’s what blokes have said to me, in the past. Not that that’s any excuse for parroting it back to you.” He shrugged, a twist of his lips demonstrating rueful recognition of his own failings. “I mean, it wasn’t exactly easy being bi, where I grew up. Not the way to fit in, to be one of the blokes. I learnt pretty quickly not to let on to anyone. Maybe that’s why I ended up as a merc. No-one’d suspect a big, tough mercenary of being queer, would they? Leastways, I reckon that’s what was behind it, now I think about it. Not that I think I necessarily made the wrong choice, but-.” He stopped abruptly, realising that this was hardly the moment for discussion of his career development.

Unable to stay sitting any longer, he pushed himself up and away from the kitchen table, feeling it rock slightly under the force of his hands. Two quick strides brought him to the window and he stared blindly out, willing himself to find the right words.

“I’ve had it off with a few blokes in my time, but only when I really had to. When I couldn’t hold off any longer. I tried to pretend I didn’t need men, and most of the time it was okay. I mean, it’s not as if I don’t like girls too, and they were safer, much safer than being caught in the sack with a bloke. Despite what you hear, the army doesn’t really go in for that in a big way, you know? Sure, sometimes, if you’re stationed a long way from home and there are no willing females around, the pressure just builds up and up, but it’s not like it’s the norm. In a way, I suppose that’s part of the problem. Everyone’s so desperate to prove that they’re not really like that, they can get really vicious about it.”

A faint snort from behind him showed that Doyle was listening, even if it was not a helpful indication of his state of mind.

“The thing is, Ray, I reckon I’ve been fancying you for years. Just didn’t want to admit it. All this time-.” Where the courage came from to turn round, he wasn’t sure, but turn he did. Doyle’s gaze seared through him. Surely this had to be an improvement on blankness. Didn’t it?

“I think I may have been hoping that if I waited, you’d make the first move. Then I wouldn’t have to be the one taking responsibility, the one being queer.” He snorted in disgust. “Then, when at last you do, I can’t bloody handle it, can I? Wasn’t expecting it, really. I’d got so used to the idea that we were best mates, and nothing else would ever happen, that when it did, I just - well, you know how I reacted. No point going over it all again. I just wish we could try it again.”

There was so much more Bodie wanted to say, but really it all came down to something very simple. I want you. I love you. But he couldn’t. Years of conditioning, of self-control ruthlessly imposed, just couldn’t be overcome in the space of a few days. All he could do was hope that Doyle would see beneath what he had said to what he meant. They could read each other on the job; why not now?

But Doyle was too hurt, emotionally as well as physically, for his usual awareness of his partner to be working at anything approaching normal levels. It was all he could do to concentrate on the words Bodie was using; it was beyond him to hear the unspoken. Numbly, he tried to think. He ought to get going, try and decide what he was going to do, but his brain didn’t seem to want to function. It sounded as if Bodie wasn’t actually going to kick him out this time, and that was probably just as well. He still had nowhere else to go. All he really wanted to do was to lie down somewhere dark and quiet and let it all go away until he felt strong enough to face things. Maybe in a year or so… Except, he was never going to feel strong enough to face the loss of Bodie.

Odd how it seemed to be getting dark again. It was past dawn now, shouldn’t it be getting brighter? Bodie’s words were echoing in his head, round and round, the sound distorting like a badly tuned radio. What the hell-?

Bodie had turned back to the window, unable to endure his partner’s unblinking stare. He was desperate to hear what Doyle would say, hoping they could somehow brush this under the carpet and move on. Better yet, get it right out there in the middle of the carpet and accept it. Yeah, that would be better. Ray wasn’t yelling at him, so maybe…? Summoning a depth of courage he hadn’t been aware of possessing, he spun round once again.

One glance at Ray, however, and Bodie knew at once why he wasn’t being yelled at. Doyle had slumped forward, his head just missing the mug still caught between the long fingers. His face was white, and his breathing uneven and slightly wheezy. Oh, shit.

~oOo~

By the time Doyle came round this time, Bodie had sorted a few things out. In a way, it was a relief to be able to do something, rather than sit and agonise. He would have much preferred not to bring Cowley into the equation when things between him and Ray were so unsettled, but his partner’s relapse into unconsciousness gave him no other realistic option than to get him checked. CI5 agents’ medical care was transferred on joining as a matter of course to an approved doctor, and Bodie knew that all medical matters were reported direct to the Controller.

Recognising that he had no choice, Bodie placed a call to HQ. Sure enough, even before the doctor turned up, Cowley was on the phone, wanting to know just what was going on. Bodie gave him a terse summary, merely explaining that he had traced his partner, that Doyle was injured but back in London, and that he needed checking over. He only got off the line after agreeing to report in again once the doctor had finished.

By lunchtime, Bodie had run out of activities. The doctor had been and gone, confirming Bodie’s own belief that Ray just needed more time in bed, resting and giving his body a chance to mend. He left a supply of stronger painkillers than Bodie had in stock, and instructions to keep him warm, in bed, and to feed him when he woke up. “Man’s lost too much weight,” he growled at Bodie, as though he were personally responsible. Bodie wasn’t inclined to argue with him.

Seeing that Ray was likely to sleep for some time, he decided to get some food in. On his way back from the supermarket, he took a detour via Ray’s flat. He knew it had been left largely untouched after the discovery of Doyle’s letter of resignation there, and since Cowley was aware that Ray was back, it wouldn’t trigger any sort of response from Control if he went in and collected some of his partner’s things. A change of clothes, for a start.

Back at his own place, and thanking God for small mercies like tinned soup, Bodie looked in on Ray. He was still flat out, so he left him to it and got on with his own lunch. Then, reluctantly, he picked up the phone to call into HQ as required.

~oOo~

“Sleeping Beauty awakes!” Bodie hid his unease under his usual light-hearted façade. Opening the curtains, he left Doyle yawning uncertainly as he went to collect a tray from the kitchen. “Come on, sunshine, sit up. I’m not sure if you’d call this lunch or dinner, but you have to eat the lot. Doctor’s orders.” Doyle had got himself more or less upright against the pillows by this stage, and Bodie dumped the tray down carefully on his legs. A bowl of soup, a couple of slices of bread and a glass of orange juice hadn’t overtaxed his culinary abilities, and he was glad to see Ray start to eat.

“What time is it?” The words were slightly hard to distinguish between the mouthfuls of soup, but Bodie got the gist.

“Five o’clock. You feeling any better?”

Doyle nodded slightly, before finishing the soup.

“Want some more?”

“Nah, that’s enough, ta.”

“Fancy getting up for a bit? Or do you want to go back to sleep?”

Ray looked around, apparently registering his location for the first time since waking up. “I should get up. Ought to get going, I suppose. I’ll just get dressed and-.”

“And what, mate? You left the keys to your flat behind when you resigned, remember?” Bodie had no intention of reminding Doyle that there was a spare set of keys in his possession. “You’re fine where you are. Need keeping an eye on, anyway.”

“But-.”

“Shut up and answer the question. Do you want to stay put or get up?”

He could see Doyle give it up as a bad job. “I’ll get up for a bit.”

“Fine. Here’s your dressing gown. You can come and sit on the sofa and watch some telly while I make us a cup of tea. I’ll even do dinner a bit later.” Bodie was relieved to see his partner’s automatic response to that, a crooked eyebrow and a grin expressing Doyle’s view of the idea of Bodie cooking anything. Haven’t completely lost it, then. He was even more encouraged when Ray let him help him up and into his dressing gown without any sign of discomfort at their proximity. “C’mon, mate. If you’re lucky, you’ll just be in nice time for ‘Songs of Praise’.”

Doyle groaned, and for a moment, it was just like it always had been.

~oOo~

They had sat in an uncomfortable silence, staring at the television without registering what was on. Later, Bodie steered carefully clear of any contentious ground while he prepared something they could both eat. Unfortunately, at the moment it felt to him as though everything had the potential to be contentious, so dinner was quiet. After he had cleared up, he came back and sat down in an armchair, watching Doyle as lay on the sofa.

“Ray.”

“No, Bodie. Not tonight. I know we need to talk, but not now. I’m too sore, and you’re not much better. I’ll stay here on the sofa tonight and you can have your bed back. Are you going in tomorrow?”

“No. Cowley’s given me a couple more days off. Well, the doctor did, really. He looked me over this morning after he’d finished with you, and said I needed more time before going back to work.”

“Huh. Bet Cowley was pleased.”

“Yeah. Look, Ray - no, hang on, it’s okay, I’m not going to try and get heavy tonight. You’re right, we’re both too tired. But you need a decent night’s sleep in a proper bed. I’ll be fine here.”

“Bodie-.”

“Don’t argue with me, Ray, please.” Even Bodie was taken aback by the desolation in his voice. Blinking, Doyle nodded, before slowly levering himself up off the sofa and heading for the bathroom. When he got back to Bodie’s bedroom, it was to find Bodie there, already in his own dressing gown, and holding out a couple of pills and a glass of water.

“What-?”

“Dr Levine left them for you. They’re just painkillers, Ray. Take them.”

Absently accepting the pills and swallowing them down with the water, Doyle frowned. “Dr Levine? But when did he leave them? I don’t remember seeing him.”

“You wouldn’t. You slept like a babe throughout his entire visit.” Seeing that Ray still looked puzzled, he explained further. “This morning, you – well, I’m not sure if you just went to sleep very hard, or actually passed out, but I couldn’t wake you. In the end, I had to haul you from the kitchen into here, and even then you didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. I was worried. I didn’t want to call the doctor out, but I couldn’t see any other choice. That’s how he ended up having a look at me too.”

Doyle nodded slowly, but it was clear he was still rather fuzzy. Probably getting fuzzier, too. Dr Levine had mentioned that the painkillers were fast-acting; it seemed he hadn’t exaggerated. It seemed likely that the side effect of drowsiness he had warned Bodie about was also cutting in, although given Ray’s current state it was hard to tell.

“Get into bed, Ray, before you fall over.” Putting a hand gently under his partner’s elbow, he moved him forward and finally got him lying down, warmly covered by the duvet. He switched off the bedside light, and was unable to stop himself as he left the room from saying, “Just – just be here in the morning when I wake up, okay? Don’t just walk out.”

He was pulling the door to when he heard the faint reply. “OK”. Inexpressibly cheered, he got himself settled on the sofa was asleep within a couple of minutes.

~oOo~

Whether it was sheer exhaustion or the painkillers – or possibly a combination of both – Doyle slept for nearly twelve hours. What was more, he actually felt human when he woke up. A little bleary, maybe, and definitely more than a little hungry, but with a mind and a body that had both apparently decided to start functioning again. He lay in bed for a few minutes just revelling in it, until his bladder indicated rather urgently that it required emptying.

He could smell toast as he headed for the bathroom, so once he had finished in there he made for the kitchen. Bodie was there, sitting at the table, holding a mug in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

“Oy, any chance of some breakfast?” While in the bathroom, Doyle had decided on his approach. Bodie had made it very plain last night he had no intention of throwing Doyle out on the streets, so he could afford to relax, at least on that score. If he could get them back into something approaching their usual style of communication, then he hoped they could both relax enough to be able to talk about things without another disaster striking.

Well, he could hope, couldn’t he? And the alternative wasn’t up to much.

He sat at the table and let Bodie get on with making him some breakfast. Tea and toast appeared in front of him, and Bodie shoved the butter and marmalade towards him as he sat back to finish his own tea. Next to the marmalade jar was the small, brown bottle of painkillers, but Doyle ignored it. He was aware that Bodie was watching him, but being strongly of the opinion that he needed some sustenance before anything else, he pretended not to notice.

Bodie cracked first. Doyle had hoped he would.

“Don’t forget the painkillers.”

“Nah, don’t need them at the moment.” Doyle caught the raised eyebrow, and flicked a small grin across the table. “They make me too fuzzy.”

“Yeah, well, may be there’s a reason for that, mate. You look like you’ve got a lot of catching up to do in the sleep department.”

“And you haven’t?”

Bodie looked away.

“Bodie.”

The ticking of the kitchen clock struck Doyle as being very loud as he waited for Bodie to answer.

“Bodie, you can’t just ignore me. Either throw me out, or talk to me.”

He watched as his partner surged to his feet and began to refill the kettle. He sighed. “OK. Have it your way. Make us some more tea, and then, if you don’t intend to talk to me, you can bloody well listen.” The faintest hint of movement in the shoulders hunched over the kettle reassured Doyle that his recalcitrant partner was at least hearing him.

Fresh tea poured, Bodie looked more like a bird about to take flight than Doyle could ever have believed possible. “For God’s sake, Bodie, sit down,” he snapped. “You’re giving me a crick in the neck.” As if Doyle’s eyes were those of a cobra, he did as he was told.

Suddenly, Doyle was assailed by doubt. He had tried this before, and look where that had landed him. Can’t be any worse, then, can it? Wryly acknowledging that while this might be true, it wasn’t exactly comforting, he tried to think how to start.

A slight movement opposite made him look up sharply. Was Bodie going to cop out of this after all? No, he was still there, but grimly Doyle recognised he was going to have to say something soon or the moment might be gone for good. Still no more certain than he had been a few seconds ago of what he was going to say, he opened his mouth anyway.

What came out surprised him as much as it did Bodie.

“I think we should go into HQ tomorrow and tell Cowley we want to get a place together.” He saw the brief flare of hope in Bodie’s eyes before it was doused by commonsense.

“Don’t be stupid.” There was a pause. “He’d never agree.”

“Won’t know unless we ask, will we?”

“But - oh, for fuck’s sake, this is ridiculous. We can’t move into together! We’ve never even-.” He was back on his feet, staring out of the window again as if the view of the mundane block of flats opposite was the most irresistible sight he had ever seen.

“I know we haven’t. But we will, as soon as I’m up to it. Shame I’m not now, really, if it would put your mind at rest, but I reckon it’ll keep a day or two.”

“Ray…” The hot green gaze that met his caused Bodie to lose his train of thought completely.

“Good.” Toning down the lust and deliberately adopting a brisk, well-that’s-settled-then tone of voice, Doyle carried on before Bodie could voice any objections. “We’ll give Betty a ring a bit later and get an appointment. That way we can be sure of seeing him. Mind you, I expect he wants to haul me over the carpet anyway, but if we can get in first with this, it’ll probably kill two birds with one stone. And at least it should cheer him up a bit.”

Bodie had a fleeting vision of Cowley smiling benignly at their nuptials before reality intruded. “What do you mean, cheer him up?”

“Think of the money he’ll save if we only need one place instead of two.” Doyle frowned slightly as a thought struck him. “Better make sure he doesn’t decide we could make do with only one car, though. Mean bugger’ll probably try it on if we let him.”

Bodie couldn’t help a small snort of laughter at the idea, but it was clear he still wasn’t entirely convinced. Doyle looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then decided it was time to play his ace. Mentally crossing fingers, toes, and anything else that could be crossed, he spoke gently. “Bodie, I don’t want to steamroller you into anything you’re not ready for. If you don’t want this - us - then just say so, now, and we’ll sort something out. I’ll get out from under your feet, even leave altogether if that’s what you need. But before you decide, I think you should know something really important. There’s no-one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with. God knows, we spend enough time together anyway, but I still miss you when you’re not there. I just hadn’t realised until recently what it meant.” Now it was his turn to struggle to his feet and across to the window. Why was it so hard to say this? Faint heart never won fair Bodie. The words were clear in his head, and for one moment he thought he had said them out loud. With a wry smile, he accepted their truth. “I love you, Bodie. Yeah, I want you, I want to feel you, to make you come, to find out what turns you on, but that’s not it.” He shrugged, wishing for an eloquence he would never possess. He was aware only of silence behind him, and his heart sank. He had made a right prat of himself, and more than likely lost Bodie in the process, even as a colleague. He leant his forehead against the windowpane, wishing he had taken the painkillers after all.

He heard the tap run, and then felt a hand on his arm, tugging him gently round. Eyes down, he saw two tablets in Bodie’s hand. “Take them,” he was urged, and a glass of water was thrust at him. He swallowed the pills obediently. The hand on his arm returned, and he felt himself being urged firmly back to the bedroom.

“No, Bodie, I don’t-.”

“Pillock.” The tone was gentle, and finally he looked up. The contented expression in the blue eyes watching him was not one he had ever seen there before. Before he could analyse it, he found himself being denuded of his dressing gown and deposited safely back into bed. “You need to get some strength back, sunshine, if we’re going in to see the old man tomorrow. Can’t have you keeling over, now, can we?”

“Bodie?”

“The answer’s ‘yes’, sunshine. If you were proposing, that is. And if you weren’t, I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> First published in the zine Secret Agent Men 8 by Requiem Publications.


End file.
